


storms of fabled foreign tongues

by Love_Me_Dead



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_Me_Dead/pseuds/Love_Me_Dead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Literature class gets cancelled due to a lack of interest and Ashton gets stuck in creative writing. It's definitely going to suck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	storms of fabled foreign tongues

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by [this](http://ashthighs.tumblr.com/post/98260864384/lashton-au-where-they-both-sit-next-to-each-other) textpost on tumblr by ashthighs. i changed it up a little bit, but that's where it came from. this work is unbeta'd so feel free to tell me if there's any mistakes! all the poetry is written by me and i don't really fancy myself a poet so there's that.
> 
> also, i never mention what play he's in but i like to think he's Chuck Cranston from Footloose
> 
> the title is from panic! at the disco's "northern downpour". enjoy!

Ashton can’t believe he ended up in a creative writing class. He selected it as an alternate course in case one of his electives didn’t work out, since law didn’t sound like fun and Liam told him it should be renamed “notes” and Ashton doesn’t have that kind of motivation. However, literature got cancelled and he got called down to the counsellor to select one of his electives instead. Immediately, Ashton said that he wanted to take ancient civilizations, which had sounded awesome but he couldn’t fit it into his schedule. His counsellor informed him that ancient civilizations wasn’t happening due to a lack of interest and Ashton was forced to pick creative writing or take a language or a class like guitar or ceramics.

He sighs when he gets his schedule on the first day, sitting with Alex, even though he’s pretty happy with his courses. He can hear other people in his homeroom talking about how they’re in creative writing, but it’s mostly just girls and he worries that he’ll be the only guy and it’ll lead to another bout of people calling him gay, which he isn’t, really. He’s pansexual, not gay. He almost shits himself, though, when Luke Hemmings, cool kid extraordinaire, exclaims, “Sweet! I got creative writing!” and his friends start laughing at him.

Ashton’s first day in creative writing is nerve-wracking. He gets there first and he gets his pick of any seats, and he picks one in the back beside the window, settling down there with the knowledge Luke Hemmings is going to be in the class and he probably won’t sit with him but with the girls that are starting to file in. He fiddles on his phone, trying to ignore Luke’s friends as they walked in and watching their teacher, Mrs. Campbell, talk to students she’s taught before.

Luke’s friends walk in and sit down across the aisle from Ashton, chortling with each other as they sat in that pair of desks. Ashton tries not to be at least a little uncomfortable, even though he’s got a desk between them and the aisle between them but they’re just so intimidating. He completely ignores them, and Luke, when he walks in and finds that the only seat near his friends is the one _directly beside Ashton_. He just kind of shifts over so he isn’t as close to Luke, trying not to see as Luke gives Michael and Calum looks about them ditching him.

Mrs. Campbell, to Ashton’s complete dismay, writes down where everyone is sitting and asks them to stay in that seat for the rest of the year so she can learn names, and since everyone else said they were comfortable where they were and Ashton didn’t really want to admit to being uncomfortable and offend Luke. He nearly fucking screams because he expected an easy A course and comfort and being at ease, but Luke being next to him makes him uncomfortable because he’s so popular and effortlessly attractive and Ashton had a huge crush on Calum in ninth year and it was obvious and uncomfortable for everyone.

He suffers through that first class, considering going up to Mrs. Campbell and asking if he could sit somewhere different next class. There was an empty seat on the other side of class near the front and the door, and he could sit there but he’d be right in front of a group of girls who were currently all noisily talking about their plans for semiformal, which doesn’t happen until January. He’ll suffer through the class and maybe he’ll get used to it or Luke will move or maybe he’ll drop the class and get a second study block.

The second class is hardly better than the first and Ashton doesn’t bother rushing his way from math to get there early. If someone stole his spot, someone stole his spot and he’s fine with that, honestly. He’s early, though, even though he dawdled as best he could, and he opens his notebook to start working on the prompt on the board as the rest of the class filters into the room. Luke sits next to Ashton and he expects him to open Snapchat or start joking with Michael and Calum but he, shockingly, starts working while the bell rings.

Mrs. Campbell comes around to see if they’re working and ask them questions about what books they’re reading for the reading section of their mark, while Ashton is bent over, pawing through his backpack in search of his headphones. There’s some low chattering going on over on the other side of the room and he works best with music on. It makes it look like he’s dicking around like Michael and Calum are, laughing as they played some game on their phones.

“Ashton,” she says. “Are you working?”

He straightens up immediately. “Sorry, yes, I was just looking for my eraser,” he lies.

“So, do you have a favourite novel?” She asks.

“Uh, yeah, it’s called _How to Say Goodbye in Robot_ ,” Ashton says.

She gives him the odd look he thought she would. “What’s it about?”

“Like, radio stations and it’s sort of coming-of-age and about dealing with people leaving? It’s hard to explain.”

“So it doesn’t explain how you say goodbye in, er, robot?” Mrs. Campbell asks.

Ashton laughs. “No. Well, sort of. It’s more like, that’s the theme of the book?”

She nods. “It sounds very interesting,” she says, before moving on to scold Michael and Calum.

He abandons looking for his headphones because it quiets down considerably when Mrs. Campbell scolds Luke’s friends. He resigns to the fact that they’re probably buried deep in his backpack and that this will be a subpar class and he’ll just have to deal with that and do his best with it. He picks up his pencil again, resuming writing.

After a few minutes of mostly quiet, Luke leans over the aisle (not that Ashton is watching him, to talk to his friends. “You know when someone smiles or laughs and it just makes you happy?”

Ashton nearly scoffs because that’s the biggest load of bullshit he’s ever heard. He goes back to finding his headphones and puts them in, drowning out Michael and Calum’s teasing responses. If Luke Hemmings, Cool Guy™, is really that poetic and romantic, Ashton will eat his socks.

 

The thing is, though, that Luke Hemmings _is_ that poetic and romantic. The next class, in the second week of school, Ashton forgets his headphones (which is awful because he recorded the monologue he has to perform for auditions and he was going to listen to it through this class and instead he had to read the sheet over and over). He doesn’t live terribly far away but it’s forty minutes each way and he doesn’t have the motivation. Luke sits next to him, apparently drafting a love letter by the amount of times he asks Michael and Calum to read it and they laugh and call him a pussy.

By the time they’re settling into the rhythm of the new school year, the first month of school behind them, Ashton has gotten used to sitting next to Luke. He tunes him out and keeps his head down, trying not to look over at him too much but seriously, he looks adorable when he’s all focussed. His eyebrows draw together and he pulls his cute lip piercing into his mouth and he just looks so good like that.

So, Ashton, theatre geek with a handful of friends, maybe has a little bit of a crush on Luke, Cool Guy™, like his life is a badly written teen movie. Of course. Of fucking course. The only person he dares to tell is Alex, his best friend since they were in drama together in eighth year and they were partnered together in a scene. He shoots him a text, requesting to meet him near the band room after school while Ashton eats a snack before rehearsal (he got in, even though he completely fucked up his monologue, but he also got a really good part, so he’s pleased).

Ashton stands a few feet away from the band room, in another hallway that leads to backstage, and he can hear Mr. McLennan down the hall in his office, sorting through things and he opens his little container stuffed full of Goldfish. Alex shows up, a welcome sight after all Ashton has seen are the bright shirts of some of the girls in the ensemble for the past few minutes.

“What’s the emergency?” Alex asks, standing across from Ashton and stealing one of his Goldfish as he drops his backpack at his feet.

“I’m absolutely fucked,” Ashton sighs around a mouthful of crackers. “I like Luke Hemmings.”

Alex stares at him, just stares for a full minute. “How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know, he sat next to me in creative writing and he’s always writing like, poetry and love letters and shit and he’s really cute? He has a cute face and a cute lip piercing and he’s got really nice hair.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you’re fucked,” he manages between breaths.

Ashton turns red. “You’re supposed to give me advice, asshat! Not laugh at me!”

“Okay, here’s some: stop liking Luke Hemmings.”

“Wow, what wonderful advice, thank you,” Ashton deadpans.

“So maybe go to his dumb parties and wait until he’s drunk and take the chance?”

Ashton glares at Alex. “You’re fucking useless.”

“Okay, okay,” Alex relents, chuckling and stealing another Goldfish. “I’m sorry, it’s just that he’s so full of himself.”

“He’s just confident,” Ashton mumbles, holding his Goldfish closer to his chest so Alex can’t reach them.

Alex snorts, but it’s mostly hidden by Mr. McLennan shouting that they start in five minutes so if everyone could start making their way in, that’d be great. He sighs and puts the lid on the container, giving Alex another glare to let him know he’s the shittiest best friend on the planet.

“Just talk to him, Ash,” Alex says. “I’m like, eighty percent sure he’s straight, but you could be friends with him or something.”

Ashton sighs, nodding and going off to rehearsal.

He makes a plan to talk to Luke, very simply start a conversation by asking Luke what class he just had when they have creative writing last block. He thinks it’s the best plan he’s ever come up with, honestly, and it’s an easy way to start off a conversation without making it too obvious that he’s head over heels for Luke. He goes to the next creative writing class excited but also sort of shitting himself because he’s terrified Luke will be rude to him when he’s never been anything but polite and freakishly apologetic whenever they’ve so much as bumped elbows.

Ashton sits and Luke comes in and sits and he can’t fucking do it. Mind over matter, but he can’t do it. Even when he reminds himself Luke is a person just like him, he can’t do it. He lost his nerve so quickly and by the time he thinks he has it back, Luke is starting to write and the moment is gone. The space for acceptable conversation has passed and by now, it would be obvious that Ashton was in love with him if he asked. It would be obvious he was just trying to get Luke to talk to him and fuck.

It shouldn’t be this hard, he’s an actor. Ashton could easily get up on stage and sing his heart out with only his hands trembling a little bit but he can’t ask his crush what class he came from. He can’t make conversation with him.

Ashton slams out a monologue on pertinent uses of acting and his failure at utilizing them, his apparent shortcomings as an actor, when Mrs. Campbell asks them to switch papers with a partner for some peer editing. Ashton glances over at Luke and sees he’s looking at Michael and Calum. Whatever, they’ll be a group of three and Ashton will just… He’ll just sit here like it isn’t really a big deal. Luke turns to him, though, when Calum and Michael are already switching papers, and he’s a little pink around the ears.

He clears his throat. “Uh, it’s pretty shitty,” he mumbles in that deep voice and even though he’s self-depreciating Ashton wants to melt.

“No worries, mine is too,” Ashton says as they trade papers.

Luke wrote a fucking poem and Ashton hates that he’s the cute cool kid who writes poetry and is extremely cute and tall and intelligent all at once, and has amazing taste in music based on the fact his phone displayed that he’d been listening to Blink-182 before he paused it. Ashton reads the poem, his pen at the ready to correct mistakes.

_I don’t know how_  
 _you spend your Saturday evenings._  
 _I don’t know if_  
 _you’d wake up with breath reminiscent_  
 _of a skunk’s spray and_  
 _a stomach that draws to mind_  
 _contracting thorn bushes._  
 _I don’t know if_  
 _you wake up early_  
 _with no headache_  
 _no stomach ache_  
 _or late,_  
 _because you stayed up._  
 _I don’t know if_  
 _you cry yourself to sleep_  
 _or if you tumble off_  
 _with that amused grin you fancy._  
 _But_  
 _I do know_  
 _that I want to wake up with you,_  
 _kiss your morning breath_  
 _even if it tastes like skunk,_  
 _hold you if you’d been crying,_  
 _smile with you if you’d been smiling._  
 _I don’t know how_  
 _you spend your Saturday evenings_  
 _but I do know_  
 _that I want to spend_  
 _all of Sunday morning_  
 _in bed with you._

Ashton doesn’t make a single mark on the page. It’s a poem and it’s a love poem and he doesn’t know if it’s just a general ‘you’ that Luke refers to or if there’s some specific and his heart kind of breaks. Taking a breath, Ashton swaps out a few of the words for more descriptive ones just to do something and slides the paper back to Luke, even though he’s still working on Ashton’s mostly-done monologue.

The poem is beautiful and Ashton thinks that there is someone specific Luke is referring to and that someone specific is probably like one of the girls on the other side of the room and his heart aches. He wishes it were him. He wishes that Luke would write poems for him and kiss him and want to be with him, but he’s straight and he likes girls and Ashton knew this all along, he knew it the moment he started liking Luke, but this realization has his chest feeling deep and achy and he wants to go home.

“That was really good,” Luke says after a while, giving him a bright, sunshine-y smile. “A little sad, but good.”

“Thank you,” Ashton says softly, working hard to return the smile. “Yours was gorgeous. Really simple, but that’s the sort of poetry I like.”

Luke’s smile, if it was possible, brightens. “Really?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Ashton nods, unable to help smiling back at him.

“So, was yours written from personal experience?” He asks, a little shy.

That makes him pause and consider lying. “Uh, sort of,” he ends up saying, shrugging.

“Oh,” Luke says. “I think you’re an awesome actor. I, uh, saw the one act play festival last year. You were in it, weren’t you?”

Ashton nods. “Yeah, I played the dad in _Baby_.” The play had a lot of physical humour and, on the first read through the script, Ashton was mortified to have been put into it, but it ended up getting the most laughs.

“Oh, the one with Katie Renner in the onesie? I loved that one.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “It was pretty fun.”

The conversation ends from there and Ashton writes in the suggestions that Luke made, thinking that he just had a successful conversation with Luke. He didn’t splutter into stuttering and he didn’t make a fool of himself (even though _Baby_ was sort of embarrassing but Luke said he loved it).

Ashton really doesn’t think about Luke’s poem, and how it’s definitely for someone else and how it could never be about him. He doesn’t think about it until he gets home after a totally unsuccessful dancing rehearsal and collapses on his bed, trying his hardest not to think about how absolutely sweet Luke’s poem was and how he just wanted it to be about _him_. He wanted someone – specifically Luke Hemmings – to write him poetry about how he woke up in the morning, or how the sun hit his eyes, but he had boring hazel eyes and boring hair and the only interesting thing about him was the fact that he was in school plays.

Ashton isn’t the kind of person that people write poems about. His laugh wasn’t like music, his smile wasn’t like the sun. All he had were dimples and sort of straight teeth, which he’s always wanted to get fixed, but he’s in year twelve and he’d never get them off in time for graduation, so he’ll spend the rest of his life with crooked teeth. He has nice taste in music, if he does say so himself, but that’s not usually the subject of a poem. Poems don’t wax on about how the subject listens to Green Day. He isn’t the kind of kid people write poems about and he especially isn’t the kind of kid Luke Hemmings writes poems about.

 

At first, Ashton didn’t really like that Luke was constantly leaning over the aisle to tell Michael and Calum about some line he’d written that he was proud of. He rolled his eyes at everything he said about sunlight and love and romantic bullshit like that, but now he looks forward to it. He’s left his headphones in his backpack all class just to listen to Luke spout some crap about love and mushy crap like that.

The weather is cooling down considerably and they’re almost done first term, which is fucking wild because that means there isn’t very much school left at all until Ashton has to find a good university to go to. Or maybe just get a job. He can’t really afford university anyway. Ashton’s schedule is slowly becoming a muddle of rehearsals and days circled for him to shut himself in his room and learn how to sing his parts or practice dancing (these days are a real treat because his siblings hear him and tease him about it).

Creative writing stays the same while his other classes get harder. There are days where it’s almost suffocating to sit next to Luke and there are days when it’s pleasant and they have friendly conversation, but mostly they just sit next to each other in silence and write, Luke leaning over to talk to Michael and Calum every once in a while.

“So, anyway,” Alex says at lunch, finishing off his Coke. “Woods is a dickhead and I hate him.”

Ashton nods. “Seriously, who assigns that much work over a weekend?” It was Friday and Alex had at least two hours of biology homework.

The bell chimes and Ashton sighs. He forgot to go to his locker and he has creative writing and it’s not like the two things are really related but he’s tired after the long week and he doesn’t know how easily he’ll be able to face Luke today. It’s not like Luke is teasing him or anything but he just doesn’t want to sit next to him and hear him say romantic shit like it doesn’t make Ashton’s heart flutter.

He goes to his locker and upon opening it, an envelope, slightly crushed, falls out from the door of his locker where someone had presumably stuffed it. It drifts to the ground and Ashton picks it up, finding that the letter is addressed to him and not the pretty girl whose locker is right beside his. He doesn’t have time to open it now, so he stuffs it in the pocket inside his binder, going to class.

Luke is sitting on Michael’s desk when he gets there and Ashton sits down, grabbing the envelope and opening it. It’s a piece of printed paper inside and Ashton starts to read it.

_Someone should bottle your smile_  
 _because every time it appears_  
 _I’m filled with inexplicable happiness._  
 _I guess that’s what_  
 _love feels like._  
 _I would give_  
 _everything_  
 _I have_  
 _just to have one snapshot_  
 _of your grin_  
 _that I could keep all for myself._

Ashton’s heart stops and he checks the envelope again. Yeah. That’s his name but the handwriting doesn’t look familiar. He swears to God that his heart is completely stopped, not working anymore, because he remembers Luke saying something about smiles and happiness on that second day of class.

He was written a poem. By Luke Hemmings. And he kind of needs to scream, but the bell chimes again and Ashton hides the paper before Luke sits next to him.

Mrs. Campbell’s talk about what they’re doing today is torturously long and tedious and Ashton feels like he might vibrate out of his skin because he needs to talk to Luke about the poem. He doesn’t know how he’s going to talk to his crush about a love-letter he was written, but he’s going to do it without breaking down into tears or something, hopefully. This is the first time a boy has made the first move with him and he feels so, so special, especially since that boy is Luke Hemmings and he could name at least four girls he’d heard talking about how amazing his legs were this term alone. (He has to admit, Luke has fantastic legs).

Mrs. Campbell eventually stops talking and Ashton turns to Luke, unsure how to start without beating around the bush. He retrieves the letter and watches Luke open his binder.

“Uh, Luke?” He asks softly. This could all be a mistake.

Luke turns to him, smiling a little as he sucks on his lip piercing. A nervous habit. Luke is nervous. “Mhm?”

“Did you… Did you write this?” Ashton asks quietly. His voice is shaking a little bit and his hands are shaking quite a bit as he slides the piece of paper over to him.

Luke immediately turns scarlet and Ashton feels like he’s going to be sick. “Yeah,” he whispers after a while.

Ashton is stunned silent. He’s going to be sick. Luke wrote him a love poem and he’s going to be sick, that’s his reaction.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I like, overstepped my bounds or something,” Luke rushes to say, tripping over his words. “We can just forget about it if you want.”

Ashton shakes his head, too quickly. “No, no. I don’t want to forget about it. I, uh. It’s a really, really nice poem. Thank you.”

Luke shrugs a little, fiddling with his lip piercing. “It’s not my best work,” he mumbles. “I was going to write you like, a whole bunch more and then ask you out on the last day of school before break, but you found out it was me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says. “I can forget I found out it was you.”

Luke smiles and Ashton thinks that his smile is the one they should be bottling. “No, I’m glad you know.”

“So, uh, are you going to ask me out?”

“Will you go out with me?” Luke asks, grinning like an idiot, but Ashton knows his expression is probably no better.

“Yeah,” Ashton beams.

 

Their first date goes better than Ashton expected. He spent almost the entire morning and afternoon freaking out because he had a date with Luke and if this date was anything like he was hoping, he would be kissing Luke by the end of the night. He was hoping for the best but expecting the worst since his stomach was flopping and he was mostly worried that he was going to throw up on Luke at this point.

Their date went amazing, though. Luke drove, which was kind of hot, even though it shouldn’t be, and they had a lovely evening together and they kissed when Luke brought Ashton home.

After that, they were boyfriends.

Ashton learned a lot about Luke, like that he was bisexual and he got his older brother to write Ashton’s name on the envelope and he was the best kisser Ashton had ever kissed. He also learned that Luke was a virgin, which shocked him since he’d heard so many rumours through the years of Luke hooking up with this person and that person, but Luke tells him that yeah, they hooked up but it wasn’t sex. Well, it sort of was, depending how you looked at it, but Luke still considered himself a virgin.

Luke comes to opening night of _Footloose_ and he gives Ashton a big bouquet of flowers afterwards and compliments his one song and his dancing in said song (which was incredibly provocative and completely awkward to rehearse). He also tells Ashton he likes the makeup, even though he’s just wearing some foundation and a little bit of eyeliner and mascara.

Ashton sees no point in going home after school on a performance night and tonight is closing night and he hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep since last week. He gets to the theater and he finds the storage room where they keep old set pieces and locates the biggest couch there, falling asleep on it underneath Luke’s sweater.

He’s woken by the weight of another body crawling on top of him and he groans. “Fuck off,” he mumbles, pushing his face deep into his arms to try to get back to sleep. He’s slept for quite a while, he’s sure, but he would really like to get at least eight hours.

“Really?” Luke’s voice says, his teasing pout evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” Ashton sighs, pulling his head up to look at Luke. They’ve been dating for four months now and Ashton is still kind of in awe that his boyfriend is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

“You’re mean,” Luke pouts.

Ashton yawns, shifting and wrapping his arms around Luke’s middle. “I know. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“You’re not supposed to be backstage before a show.”

“Well, cast call isn’t for another hour and I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner. And  I’m a rebel.”

Ashton nods. “Dinner. Yeah.”

“What do you want?”

“Anything as long as I don’t have to walk there.”

Luke smiles and pecks Ashton’s lips. “You’re in luck, then, because I have the car with me.”

He grins sleepily. “Let’s go to a five-star restaurant.”

“Does McDonald’s count?”

“Nah,” Ashton smiles, leaning up and kissing him.

Luke kisses him back but pulls away after a while, taking him out to the car and they settle on going for Chinese food. Ashton gets a ride back to the theatre afterwards and a promise from Luke to see him later. He’s one of the first people in the dressing room and he finds an envelope on his box where he keeps his costume, which is starting to stink, and he grabs one of the chairs. He’s early and it’s probably a note from Mr. McLennan that everyone has or it’s a note from Mrs. Emery telling him how to fix his vocals. He opens the envelope while the only other boy in the dressing room, a grade eight named Taylor, works on homework.

It’s a fucking poem.

_I now know how you wake_  
 _on Sunday mornings._  
 _You wake up early to your_  
 _brother and sister begging you_  
 _to play with them_  
 _and you do_  
 _even though you,_  
 _as sweet as you are,_  
 _stayed up to see if I_  
 _needed a ride home._

_There’s an angle_  
 _where you are juxtaposed_  
 _just right with the_  
 _afternoon sun_  
 _and it illuminates your eyes,_  
 _which you’ve always thought_  
 _are boring,_  
 _into a bright shade_  
 _that’s like melted honey._  
 _You, my love, are sweeter than honey_  
 _and I’ve never been in love before_  
 _but I know_  
 _that now I am._

Ashton’s hand comes up and covers his mouth as he reads the last stanza, immediately grabbing his phone and dialling Luke’s number.

“Hey, babe, you okay?” Luke says when he answers, calm.

“What the fuck,” Ashton says quietly. “You… the fucking. That poem, Luke, what the fuck!”

Luke is silent for a minute. “I get it if you aren’t ready to say it back. I just wanted you to know…”

“No, shit, Luke, I love you too, I just. That was so out of nowhere and sweet and I want to kiss you a lot.”

“You love me?” Luke squeaks.

“I love you,” Ashton confirms, taking a deep breath. “I love you and your dumb poetry and your face and I love you a lot and you need to come over tonight. Please.”

“I love you too,” Luke says, the smile audible in his voice. “I’m coming to the show tonight with Michael and Calum so I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Okay,” Ashton breathes. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“Okay. Break a leg tonight, love.”

Ashton hangs up and reads the poem a few more times, sharing it with some of his friends who are also in the show while he does his makeup and his hair. Closing night is the best night of all the shows and they have a little party afterwards that Ashton only stays for half of while Luke sits in the hall outside the theatre and plays on his phone. He grabs his backpack from where it’s sitting, slides it onto his shoulder and gives a few more people hugs before emerging into the hall, still sweaty and still buzzing from getting a standing ovation.

Luke stands up, sliding his phone into his jeans pocket, and reaches for Ashton. “Hey, love,” he says softly as Ashton goes over to him and presses a kiss to his lips.

“Hi,” he whispers against Luke’s lips.

Luke kisses him for a minute and Ashton is positively fluttering with the energy from the show and the energy from knowing that Luke loves him. “You look good in eyeliner,” Luke says as he pulls away, taking Ashton’s hand and leading him to the parking lot.

Ashton chuckles, kissing his cheek as they walk. They get into Luke’s car and drive back to Ashton’s, which is a relatively short drive that he spends teasing Luke to keep both hands on the wheel, since one is situated directly on his thigh. When they get home, Ashton’s mum says hi to Luke and tells them to keep the night PG. (Last month, Ashton brought Luke home to meet his family and they all immediately fell in love with him. Luke took Ashton home not long after that and it was terrifying but Ashton felt welcomed by his family.)

They go up to Ashton’s room and lie down after Ashton has washed the makeup off his face (sort of) and he curls up against Luke’s chest. “You think I have pretty eyes?”

“I think you have a pretty everything,” Luke replies, smiling a little. “You’re the best muse I’ve ever had, Ash.”

He smiles at the nickname and Luke pokes his dimple. He’s glad literature got cancelled and he ended up in creative writing.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
